Shaped by Circumstance
by Brave November
Summary: A KOTOR walkthrough, slightly AU as it is not line with the established Star Wars Extended Universe canon. Pre-KOTOR comic canon may be used or ignored. Rewritten from its first version.
1. Ambush

Prologue: Ambush

First chapter of the rewrite. Since disclaimers are customary, I will take this opportunity to state that I do not own Star Wars. If I did, keeping track of all the intricate details of its fractured canon would probably drive me insane.

* * *

_"We didn't choose that battle, anyway. It got forced on us." _Carth Onasi

* * *

It began with a sudden rumble of protest from the engines, the yellow flash of a warning light on a monitoring station, and a stomach-churning lurch as the _Endar Spire's_ determined chug through hyperspace came to an abrupt and unscheduled end. White starlines flared and faded as the ship was yanked back into the blackness of realspace, alarms screeching over the now-discordant background hum of the shipsong.

Commander Carth Onasi felt only the briefest flash of surprise, because somewhere in the back of his mind he'd expected _something_ to go wrong. By the time the alarms sounded, he'd snapped his datapad shut and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, the crew assessments he'd been reading through forgotten.

The cruiser's engines strained against the pull of heavyweight tractor beams as she fought the leading Interdictor's grip. Ion cannons fired in an unceasing volley, bombarding the _Endar Spire's_ shields until they began to flicker and phase out. The other ships in the convoy were not ignored; a pair of arrowhead-shaped Centurion battlecruisers engaged the _Hound of Rendilli _in a hopelessly one-sided battle as the second Interdictor captured one of the smaller Forays with a tractor beam and held it helpless.

Bastila snapped out of deep meditation as fear, aggression, and determination exploded around her. She instinctively stretched out with the Force, then shied away as she encountered a twisted maelstrom of hatred and bloodlust. Fragments of not-thought—gloating glee, barely restrained rage, and cruel anticipation—tore at her unprepared consciousness like shrapnel, and she gritted her teeth against the assault as her body pulled itself to its feet, hands thrusting themselves into tunic sleeves and groping for boots. They were coming for _her_. Their leader's intent echoed in her head as surely as if he'd shouted it aloud; his desire to see her captured, broken, turned. _I will not allow it,_ she thought defiantly.

One-man fighters attacked the _Spire_ like a swarm of kretch, striking surgically at the shield generators and point-defense cannons at the base of the Hammerhead's nose. As the belabored shields dissipated into nothingness, dart-shaped boarding craft followed the crippling vanguard, rocketing towards the exposed hull. Their spiked noses thrust through the thinner metal where the command deck rose from the main body of the ship. Gangways burst open, disgorging the armored commando teams huddled in their bellies.

The man who called himself Darth Bandon smiled at the Jedi's fleeting mindtouch. She did not yet fear him; all the better. He closed his eyes as the boarding craft impacted on the Republic ship's hull, savoring the moment as months of plotting, subterfuge, and preparation coalesced into perfect opportunity. His hands clenched around his double-bladed saber hilt as he felt his heart beat fast and hard in tune with the word that had echoed through his soul for six long months, his oath and purpose: _Vengence_.

The _Endar Spire's_ crew worked with restrained urgency. Pilots and crews scrambled to ready their fighters for launch as soldiers took up defensive positions around critical areas, and noncombat servicemen checked the power pacs in their regulation blasters as they rushed to their duty stations. _Ambush_, a thousand mouths whispered and snarled and shouted, and, _Sith. _

Sereyna Tahl woke in utter confusion.

Her first thought was a befuddled, wholly unoriginal _What? _as her hands groped senselessly at the cool surface pressed against her cheek. The mattress on her bunk was hard, but it wasn't cold, and it definitely didn't have a rivet-line running along it. Untangling herself from her blankets, Sereyna pushed herself to her hands and knees, tonguing the split lip she'd somehow acquired. _How the serley hells. . . we hit something?. . ._ She squinted unhappily under the glare of the overhead lights and thought dour, half-formed thoughts about inconsiderate shipmates and incompetent helmsmen.

And then floor beneath her shuddered, the hated lights flickered, and a mechanical screech started blaring from the overhead comm. Sudden fear cleared the grogginess from her head, and she scrabbled toward the wall, craning her neck to look out the high-set rectangular viewports. Red laser fire scorched through the blackness, illuminating the silver shapes of fighters swooping and darting through the vacuum; far off, the shadowy bulks of larger ships were backlit by the white flares of cannon fire. She gaped in disbelief and clawed for a handhold as another deck-shaking volley illuminated the void. "No, no, no, no, not again!" she protested, as if her objection would send the enemy fleet skulking back into hyperspace. "This can't be happening _again_!"

* * *

AN: An inordinate amount of research and thought goes into writing a two-page space battle. How many ships constitute a "battle fleet," and what kind of ships does each side use? (That depends. . .) How do KOTOR-era Interdictors work? (Short answer: Not like Imperial Interdictors, because that would be too easy.) Do ion weapons pass through shields? (. . .No?) What's the crew and fighter compliment of each ship? (Oh, gods. . .) What's the range of a non-hyperspace capable escape pod? (Not far.) These answers can be found on Wookiepedia or, if you have a lot of time and money, EU sourcebooks, but it takes a while. The only thing that alleviates my frustration is the knowledge that someone, somewhere, sometime, had to gather, reconcile, or flat-out make up all the dren I'm trudging through.

Other questions aren't so easy to resolve: for example, what the heck was the _Endar Spire_ doing near Taris anyway? How does Carth, a mere commander "on board as an adviser, for the most part," end up calling the shots during the attack? Why is your poor, confused, possibly noncombatant PC fighting off boarders—and how much of the attack would they have to sleep through if they run into boarders right outside their room? These things _I_ have to flat-out make up, and I hope what I come up with makes sense.

For the opening battle, I've chosen to go with an ambush. The _Endar Spire_ is dragged out of hyperspace near Taris and disabled with ion cannons. I imagine that the Republic force would've consisted of at least two or three ships in addition to the _Spire_, so I've added a Praetorian frigate (the _Hound_) and four Forays_. _The _Endar Spire_ itself is a Hammerhead cruiser. Together, they field 24 fighters, 8 shuttles, and a decent amount of ship-based firepower. The Sith have two Star Forge-built clones of the _Leviathan _(the technical marvel of its time) and two Centurion-class battlecruisers; their total possible capacity would be nearly 300 fighters, various support craft, eight gravity generators, and a _hell_ of a lot of firepower, which seems in keeping with Malak's "crush them with overwhelming force" approach to strategy. I'm pretty sure that boarding craft like the ones I've described did not exist in this era, if at all (they may have shown up in one of the Kyle Katarn games, and I know there were something like them in _Force Unleashed II_), but I had to get the commandos on the ship somehow, and the Sith have the Star Forge, so. . .Yeah. I may be overplanning this just a bit.

As for the rest, I'll try to put explanations within the story.

Other notes: _kretch_ are a type on insect, first mentioned (I think) in _Children of the Jedi_. Imagine bullet ants with scorpion stingers. _Shipsong_ is a somewhat poetic term I'm sure I've read in other SW works that describes the background noise of a starship. I really like it.

Beta-read by Dylan, the friend who introduced me to KOTOR in the first place. Don't blame him for what I'm doing to it.


	2. Duty

Duty

* * *

_"Oath or no oath, I'm heading for the escape pods!"_

* * *

Before she had fully realized the amount of trouble she was in, Sereyna found herself staggering towards her footlocker and pulling on clothes with hands that shook only a little. Black canvas trousers, white shirt, vest of many pockets. . ._Boots, where's my boots, won't get far barefoot. . ._ She grabbed them from beside her bunk and thumped down on the thin mattress as the _Endar Spire_ rocked. _Comlink_, she thought feverishly. _Weapons_. _Belt_. _Do I have any credits_? She patted frantically at her pockets. The door to her quarters opened with a pneumonic hiss, and she snatched at her still-holstered blaster in panicked reflex before she recognized the figure framed by the absurdly large oval doorway. "Trask!" she said, relief turning her voice into something rather weak and breathy. "What the Nine Hells is going on?"

"We're under attack," he told her—as if she hadn't realized that part herself. _Ask a stupid question. . ._ Her seldom-seen bunkmate had lost his flared helmet, and his close-cropped blond hair stuck up wildly in all directions. The face beneath it was flushed with excitement. "We've been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet—hurry up, we don't have much time!"

A thousand questions jostled for prominence on her tongue—_How many ships do they have? Why aren't we running? Where the frack are we? Can we expect help?_—but she settled on the most immediate. "Time for what?" she demanded, shoving her feet into her boots.

"Word is that we've got to boarders," Trask said, automatically checking the setting on his blaster rifle. "They'll head straight for the bridge—we have to keep the Sith from getting to Bastila!"

"Who-what?" Sereyna asked. _Boarders mean they got past the shields. They could destroy us any time they want._ She frowned. _So why haven't they?_

The ensign gaped at her. "Bastila! The Jedi in charge of the mission!" he exclaimed. "Did you sleep through orientation?"

"I never got one," she answered distractedly. She cinched her gunbelt around her waist, cracked her chin on the hilt of her regulation short sword as she struggled to slip its harness over her shoulder. "Anyway, if she's a Jedi, she can probably take care of herself. Let's get out of here!" The sword belt finally slid over her shoulder like it was supposed to, and she started towards the door. Trask planted himself in her path, blaster rifle held crossways across his chest.

"You swore an oath," he said stubbornly. "Just like everyone else on this mission." _Did I? _Sereyna wondered, trying to remember exactly what she'd signed and spoken during her hurried transfer onto the _Endar Spire_. "Our primary duty is to guarantee Bastila's survival in the event of an attack. The Republic's counting on us!"

_I guess that explains why we aren't space dust yet. _"The Republic can count me out!" she snapped. "I've already been blown up by the Sith once, I am _not_ sticking around to give them another chance!" She lunged towards the door, and Trask sidestepped to block her. She pushed, but the ensign refused to budge.

"How are you gonna do that?" he demanded. "The _Spire's_ about to be full of Sith commandos, most of the command deck is locked down, and _you_ don't have the override codes." Sereyna eyed the blinking red light on the lock and wondered how long it would take her to slice through the override. _Too long,_ she decided as another impact made them both sway. "And even if you could get out, you wouldn't survive long on your own."

Protests screamed through Sereyna's mind._ I'm not a soldier. I'm not trained for this! I don't even have any armor!_ Beneath that, another voice urged her to _get out get out get out get out_ unceasingly. She glared at her roommate as if he were responsible for everything. "This is _not_ my job," she said unsteadily.

Ulgo's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Look, I know you're a scout and not a soldier, but we're gonna need all the help we can get," he said, trying to sound reassuring even though his voice was rough with agitation. "Besides," he added practically, "if we don't keep the bridge from being overrun as long as possible, we won't be able to escape, anyway."

He was right. She had no clue what kind of forces they were facing or even where they were, but she knew it wouldn't matter if the Sith gained control of the bridge. They could shut down the power—gravity, launch bays, life support—and kill or capture everybody on board in a matter of minutes. Also, her chances of survival would be ever so slightly upwards from zero if she had an armored soldier with a powerful blaster rifle watching her unprotected back. And she'd never get off this serley city-ship if they stood around here arguing. The hull would probably disintegrate before she could talk Trask into abandoning his duty. _  
_

"All right," she said bitterly. "It looks like I don't have a choice." She drew her blaster and thumbed it up to maximum power. "Let's go get ourselves shot at."

-0-0-0-

"But I must—" Bastila protested.

"Escape," Nama-Reth finished for her. "You're our last defense against Malak. The rest of us will protect you so that you may continue to protect the Republic."

"I _can_ help!" she insisted, trying to ignore the turmoil in her head. Too many voices, too many deaths. She needed to focus. "If I can just—"

"Even battle meditation will not save us now," Rash'aron said gravely. The Verpine Jedi Master's antennae twitched in a gesture that Bastila vaguely recognized as one of resignation. "We are ambushed and overwhelmed. It is not likely that many will survive. You _must_ be one of them."

"But what about—" Bastila argued.

"I'll take care of it," Nesh reassured her, hastily knotting her black hair into a ponytail. "I'll head toward the crew quarters and start helping survivors as soon as you're safe."

"But you take priority." Nama-Reth ducked so that the top of her elongated skull didn't bump into a doorframe. "_Your_ worth has been proven." She managed to spear Bastila with a reproving look whilst walking backwards through the unsteady hall.

The four Jedi moved easily through the flood of crewmen hurrying towards their posts, who acknowledged their presence with harried nods. Bastila was conscious of the way their eyes lingered on her, and squared her shoulders against the nearly tangible weight of their expectations._ I will not fail you_, she resolved, steeling herself against doubt. _The Force will guide me._

Right now, both it and common sense told her that she would be most useful on the bridge. A more experienced Knight might have been able to view the entire battlefield through the Force, touch the minds of each soldier, and read the intentions of the enemy with only the slightest effort, but Bastila was not—_yet_—that skilled in her application of Nomi Sunrider's legendary skill. She needed the concrete information that sensors and crew could provide to bolster her concentration—which meant that she would be sitting on the bridge as others fought and died to protect her. All the rationalizations in the universe could not banish the guilt inherent in that knowledge.

-0-0-0

The bridge was controlled chaos. The crewmen manning the consoles shouted status reports to the overseeing officer, a young lieutenant who looked as if she desperately wished she were anywhere else. Her eyes lit up as soon as she spotted Carth. "Commander!" she said, trying to snap to attention even as her body sagged with relief. "We have reports of borders on command decks eight, six, and five, the ion cannons disabled shields around the bridge and lower starboard section and engineering reports that the hyperdrive is offline but they're working to restore the backup, and—"

"Where's the captain?" Carth interrupted.

She gave him a look that fell just short of wide-eyed panic. "I don't _know_, sir."

_Right_. Adviser or not, his greater rank and experience meant the whole mess was in his hands now. He brushed past the lieutenant and hid a wince at the sensor display of the battlefield. His eyes narrowed as he read the identity code of the ship currently holding the _Spire_ captive. _Leviathan. _ His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists as she fought back a surge of incandescent rage. This wasn't the time or the place to indulge in personal vendettas, and if he didn't keep his wits about him, there wouldn't be another. He shook his head and forced himself to think in the clipped, clear terms of tactics.

With four capital ships and a veritable fleet of smaller craft, there was no question that their little convoy was pathetically outgunned. The _Hound_ was barely holding together under the concentrated fire of the two Centurions, and one of the Forays was already debris. The _Leviathan_, however, was bombarding them with ion pulses instead of turbolasers, so they were trying to keep the _Spire_ intact. The fighters were targeting shield generators and the engines, trying to render her immobile and defenseless, and if there were commando teams on board already. . .

_They're trying to take us alive—**one** of us, anyway._

He could work with that.

Through some miracle of engineering, the _Spire's_ turbolaser cannons were still functional. "Ignore the fighters," he ordered the weapons station. "Target the _Leviathan's_ tractor beams." Their firepower wouldn't make much of dent against the Interceptor's defenses, but breaking the interdiction field was their only chance. "Tell our fighters to keep those Sith away from our engines. We need that backup hyperdrive online as soon as possible. _Everything_ else is secondary. Yes, even the shield generators!" He heard bewilderment and resignation in the lieutenant's reply, but there wasn't enough time to explain. "All non-combat staff report to the evacuation areas, but don't launch the pods yet."

The bridge door's opening was lost in the flurry of relayed instructions, but he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle an instant before the Jedi spoke. "Commander Onasi," she said, voice oddly free of even the slightest hint of strained nerves. "Where is Captain Trenn?"

"No idea," he answered, eyes fastened on green and red light display of the battlefield. "Are the repair teams assembled?" he asked, and barely paused for the officer's answering affirmative before ordering, "Good. Prioritize the propulsion systems and weapons."

"_Not_ the shields, sir?" the lieutenant asked, her voice edged with desperation.

"No." In any other engagement, that tactic would be suicide, but he knew the Sith weren't going to risk losing their prize this early in the fight. He shot a quick glance at Bastila as she strode across the bridge to stand beside him. She looked as composed as ever, grey eyes cool as a misty morning. She and the three Jedi flanking her seemed to radiate calm. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," she said, after a moment's hesitation during which her gaze went distant. "I sense that their objective is to take me alive."

He hadn't needed the Force to confirm _that_, but the Jedi's words seemed to calm the crew a little. "That means we have a chance," he told her. "We're surrounded and outnumbered, but if we can keep them busy long enough to break through the Sith's perimeter and make a run for Taris. . ."

"Can we expect any help from the Republic forces stationed there?"

"No." Had she even read their mission statement before she co-opted the ship? "_We_ were supposed to be the help. Even _if_ they respond to our distress call, they don't have the numbers to make a difference." He gestured to the main screen and its discouraging display of superior firepower. "But if we can get out of this interdiction field and put everything we've got into a blind jump, the planet's gravity should pull us out of hyperspace and into orbit."

"And then?" Bastila demanded, stepping behind him to squint at the light display.

"Then we evacuate as many people as possible," Carth said bluntly. What would happen to them after that was too far into the future to worry about right now, and it would _definitely_ be better than what the Sith had in mind.

"Must we? Are you certain we cannot simply flee?"

Carth nearly sighed. "Yes," he said shortly. "I'll explain why later—if there's a later—but right now, you have to let me do my job." Bastila might be able to influence the course of a battle through the Force, but she'd never led anything bigger than strike teams of her fellow Jedi. Hence his position aboard the ship; even if he hadn't read between the lines of his official orders, Admiral Dodonna had bluntly informed him that his real job was to keep the inexperienced Jedi from frelling things up too badly. He was pretty sure Bastila knew it, too, and he hoped that this wouldn't be one of those times she decided to assert her authority, because he didn't have time to deal with four indignant Jedi _and_ a Sith fleet.

"Very well," Bastila said after a moment's hesitation. "I defer to your experience, Commander." He let out a relieved breath he knew she didn't miss.

"Commander!" one of the monitoring crewmen interrupted, a barely-suppressed alarm making his voice sharp. "Another boarding ship's impacted with the main deck! They've overrun the first two security details, and they're heading for the bridge!"

_Blast_. He'd know it was inevitable, hoped it would take longer. He moved to the comm systems, "This is Commander Onasi. The Sith are threatening to overrun our position, and we can't hold out long against their firepower. All hand to the bridge!" _Just buy us a few more minutes, and maybe. . ._

"There is a Dark Jedi among them," Bastila said abruptly. She exchanged a quick glance with the other human Jedi, who left the room at a sprint, blue lightsaber flaring to life as she ran. The Cerean and the Verpine took up defensive positions beside the door, lightsabers in hand but not ignited. "I can assist as well," Bastila said, and was speared by three identical looks of alarm. Her pointed chin rose fractionally. "From the bridge," she clarified. "With battle meditation. I fear my skills cannot win us the day, but they may still aid in our defense." She knelt beside him with an air of affronted dignity. Relieved and slightly surprised by her display of good sense, Carth turned his attention back to the space battle.

"Patch me through to the _Hound's_ captain," he said to the communications officet, hating how calm his voice sounded. "We're going to need his help to get out of this."

-0-0-0-

"Who was that?" Sereyna asked as the ship's comm system broadcast dire news and suicidal instructions.

"Commander Onasi," Trask explained, busily entering his clearance codes into the redundant outer door. "He's seen more combat than the rest of the crew put together. If he says things are bad. . ." His voice faded into grim silence. Serenya bit her lip nervously. She'd been in trouble before—dodged the stray blaster bolts of idiots gunning each other down in the streets of lawless Rim worlds, punched her way out of a couple nasty bar brawls, even survived a few skirmishes like the one that had left her stranded in a Republic hospital. But this was carnage on a different scale. The ship was going down in flames, _and_ it was full of enemy commandos—_talk about overkill_—and here she was about to follow her too-dumb-to-live bunkmate on a fool's errand to rescue a Jedi who had probably already hauled jets in one of the support craft. She should be utterly terrified, but, to her own surprise, fear was largely superseded by a profound sense of annoyance.

_At least there are escape pods near the bridge._ With luck, the boarders wouldn't have penetrated the command deck and they could hurry along until they found a larger, better-armed party to up their odds of survival. . .

The door finally yielded to Trask's prodding and juddered open. Blaster fire whistled through the open corridor in front of her, killing her hopes of sneaking past combat. "This must be the advance boarding party!" Trask shouted.

"Tell me something I don't know!" Sereyna yelled back, jerking behind the doorframe as plasma bolts scorched through the space where her head had been. _Options, options, options. . .come on, Tahl, **think**! _Her short sword dug into her back as she pressed against the wall, and she gave it a dubious sideways glance. It would be more effective against the Sith's armor than her pistol, but a charge would be suicide. Even if these guys were the worst shots in the galaxy _and_ firing the worst guns ever made, they could hardly fail to miss her if she went careening down the corridor like an enraged rancor. _An energy shield would be really handy right now. Or a grenade. Or armor._

Instead, she had a pathetically unmodded pistol and an oversized knife. Trask's rifle was literally their best shot, but if he stepped out into the corridor he'd be gunned down immediately. There was no cover in the hallway except for the smoking remains of a directional console, and that was hardly big enough for her to hide behind, let alone. . .

_Oh, no._ She squinched her eyes closed in dismay, and opened them hoping that the corridor had miraculously been filled with friendly troopers while she blinked. It hadn't. _I really don't want to do this. . ._

"I'll distract them," she said, before she could think better of it. "I'm gonna make a run for that console. They don't know you're here, they'll focus on me. Soon as I've got their attention, you kill them. You're a good shot, right?" Trask nodded, hard-eyed and ready. Sereyna wished she could think of some suitably daring battlecry, but all she could come up with was _This is such a **stupid** way to die!_ "All right," she managed instead, poised on her toes. Gulping in a deep breath, she threw herself into the corridor, firing wildly, barely looking at her targets as she ran for the dubious shelter of the wrecked console. She huddled behind it, limbs clenched protectively around her torso. _Come on Trask, come on come on how long do you NEED?_

"_For the Republic!"_

Her tense huddle relaxed into a boneless slump at the sound of his shout She forced herself to turn and fire on their enemies instead of hiding, mind screaming denial at her all the while. _Left hand pulls the trigger, right hand steadies. Just like the range. _Most of her shots dissipated against their gleaming armor, but Trask's rifle was more effective. In a few frantic seconds, the soldier's precise shots downed both of the troopers. In the relative silence afterwards, Sereyna drew a shaky breath and got to her feet. Hands automatically holstered her blaster as she strolled towards the fallen on strangely rubbery legs. She knelt beside them and methodically began to go through their gear. No grenades. No energy shields. "They must have used them up getting here," said a curiously calm voice, and she realized it was her own. She picked up a blaster rifle and pulled it against her chest. "We'd better keep going."

She felt curiously disconnected from her body as it moved, staggering after Trask through the once-gleaming corridors. Her hands were white-knuckled around the grip of the rifle and her stomach roiled like the Hell of Chaos, but her mind was oddly clear. She was afraid, but the fear seemed separate, just another thing to be carried with her. Another blast shook the ship, and one of the _Spire's_ ubiquitous droids was blasted into scrap metal as the power conduit it had been repairing overloaded. She grimaced in sympathy, snorting the caustic smoke of fried electronics out of her nostrils. Over the cacophony of blaring alarms and protesting machinery, she heard the shriek of blaster fire. She flattened herself against the wall, Trask crowding at her shoulder, and crept toward the turn, wishing fervently and uselessly for a stealth generator. She wasn't good enough to sneak past all the Sith between her and the escape pods, but at least she could've looked ahead without getting shot.

A group of Republic soldiers were pinned down at a turn in the corridor. Half of them were dressed in a mishmash of battle gear and sleep clothes; one of them seemed to have been caught in the middle of shaving. Sereyna bit back a giggle at the incongruous sight of a half-bearded face, still decorated with bits of foam, squinting down the barrel of a rifle. She couldn't see their attackers, but the barrage of fire was nearly constant, so they were probably outnumbered. Trask started towards them, but some instinct made Sereyna raise an arm to bar him. One of the armored soldiers fumbled at his belt, reaching for a grenade, but the Sith beat him to it. Sereyna ducked as a small sphere landed in the midst of the huddle. There was barely time to cover her ears. A moment later, the corridor was a smoking wreck of bodies. White-faced and furious, Trask ground his teeth in helpless anger, but Sereyna shook her head and pointed. The armored soldier she'd noticed earlier was sprawled broken-bodied on the deck, and the gleaming object in his half-closed hand gave her hope. If she could just reach him before the Sith rounded the corner. . .

_Deep breath. Run!_ On her knees beside the corpse, she grabbed for the grenade and nearly laughed as her scrabbling fingers closed around it. Standard frag model—definitely powerful enough to take out the Sith, as long as they were close together in standard formation. She threw herself toward the rounded corner and flung it blindly. The blast seemed to shake the ship. A moment later, she poked her head cautiously around the corner. Some of the bodies were twitching and groaning, but most of them were shredded and still. She traded a fierce grin with Trask as she got to her feet.

"There's probably more on the way," he warned, and Sereyna nodded. She went back to the dead soldier, unbuckled his belt, and wrapped it awkwardly around her waist over her plain blaster holster. Quickly, the two of them looted the bodies of friend and foe alike for more grenades, stims, and medical supplies. The small hoard they appropriated would probably make the difference between survival and an ignominious death.

Running footsteps thudded on the deck—more Sith coming to see what had happened to the rest of the force. Sereyna and Trask raised their blaster rifles in unison.

* * *

AN: Revan might be an expert strategist and tactician, but my grasp of space combat is not the firmest. I am. . ._pretty sure_ that the scenario I've come up with is possible, by SW rules anyway. This era's Interdictors use gravity wells and tractor beams to keep their prey from jumping to hyperspace, so it makes sense that the first step to escape would be to take them out. Blind jumps into hyperspace are risky and more often than not result in catastrophe, but a short jump within a system isn't quite as risky as it would otherwise be because ships will usually exit hyperspace automatically if they're near an object with a lot of mass, like a planet or a star. Taris is the outermost planet in its five-planet fifth system, so a blind jump in its general direction would pull the _Spire_ out fairly close to it. As to why the _Spire_ doesn't just run, I'm going with the ship being too damaged for that to be feasible.

I don't know why the captain of the _Endar Spire_ never made an appearance, so neither does anyone else. I hope that Bastila and Carth are in character, and that my explanation for Carth's presence makes sense. If you've played KOTOR II, you may know that the Disciple (aka Mical) was Admiral Onasi's agent; Carth is basically serving as Admiral Dodonna's Mical. How and why Bastila and her Jedi ended up on board the _Endar Spire_ will be revealed in the story.

Apparently, there _is_ a canon explanation as to why the _Endar Spire_ was at Taris; it was part of a force intended to supplement the planet's defenses. Thanks to Darth Esquire for pointing it out—I don't know how I didn't catch it during my earlier researching, but it definitely makes more sense than the half-assed scenario I cobbled together. It definitely cuts down on the complexity.


	3. Sacrifices

Sacrifices

Note: Time is not exactly synced up between all parties. I'm trying to keep it mostly sequential, sometimes I just have to say "Close enough, they can figure it out." Attempts to create a minute-by-minute mission log ended in failure and dismay.

Apologies for the long delay; I've been working extra morning and housekeeping shifts because of a chronic shortage of workers / overabundance of guests.

* * *

"_We lost the ship and a lot of good people. . .and for what? On the hope that Jedi powers would save us, somehow?" _Carth Onasi

* * *

Bandon mowed through the ranks of bright-armored defenders with brutal efficiency. The blaster fire he did not direct back towards the shooters glanced harmlessly off his armor, and the few who dared to attack him with melee weapons learned a fatal lesson in the futility of pitting steel against a plasma blade. He laughed as he cut a swath through them, Hunters following at his heels, sniping and stabbing the few he did not dispatch himself. They could not touch him.

_So much for the vaunted prowess of battle meditation_, he thought, skewering a screaming attacker with a backwards thrust. He twisted his blade around to slice through the barrel of a blaster rifle and tossed its wielder from his path with a thought. His Hunters sprayed the body with blaster fire, just in case. The Republic troops' efforts were as meaningless as the stings of insects defending a crumbling hive. Their queen's nagging insistence that he would not, could not succeed was as easily brushed aside as a filament of cobweb. She strove for order in the midst of chaos, but he embraced it, letting the red heat of each death sear through him, feeding on the fear and despair of the dying. _Foolish girl_, he thought at her, dark triumph coloring his mind. _Hide from me, run from me, fight against me if you dare. I will tear all you protect to pieces. _

-0-0-0-

The _Endar Spire's_ once-pristine halls were now a chaotic mess of buckled plating, broken droids, smoking consoles, and sprawled bodies, most of them in Republic red. Sightless eyes seemed to stare in mute reproach, open mouths gaping around wordless cries for help. _Don't think don't think don't think just run_. Her feet drummed a frantic tattoo on the deck as she dodged and scampered like a panicking tach. Blaster fire sizzled through the air around her like caustic rain, searing fiery streaks across her peripheral vision. She stumbled on the splayed limbs of a dead soldier, caught herself before she fell, and leapt forward. _Not far not far not very far_.

She slid around the corner, skidding on the slick floor, and pressed herself into the dubious shelter of a closed door. The panel beside it glared yellow—jammed, and she didn't have override codes. She closed her eyes and tried to pant silently, as if being quieter would somehow keep the Sith from finding her in the dead end she'd fled to. The tromping of their boots beat louder than her pounding heart and racing pulse. She squeezed her eyes shut.

_Now! _She thought through the racket in her head. _Do it now, Trask, get them now!_ She pressed herself further into the shallow alcove. Less than a breath after her silent command, the bone-shaking force of a concussive grenade slammed into her. She barely heard the smaller, sharper explosion of the frag grenade that followed it, or the scream of blaster fire as one of the fallen Republic troops came to sudden and vengeful life.

When the dull roar in her ears subsided to a persistent ringing, Sereyna released her held breath in a relieved whoosh. "They all dead?" she hollered, not moving, limp with fatigue and sheer relief that she was still alive.

"Yes!" Trask shouted back. She stumbled back into the corridor, now rather messier than before, as he clambered from the floor. With grim satisfaction, she observed that the blackened bodies of her pursuers more or less equaled the number of dead Republic soldiers. The elation of survival made her laugh aloud. Trask coughed out a grim chuckle before regaining his composure.

"That was smart," he said approvingly. "See, I knew you'd be able to help me."

Sereyna grinned madly at him. "_This_ is how a scout fights," she said with absurd pride. "We're always outnumbered and outgunned, so we plan ahead and run like hell." The Sith squad had been too large for them to take on in a firefight, so she'd hissed for Trask to play dead until she led them into the right spot for a surprise attack. With no armor and only the most rudimentary training on blaster rifles, she wasn't much of a threat, but she was a damn good distraction. "Actually, I can't believe that worked," she admitted.

"Me, neither." Trask looked at her with confused admiration. "They didn't even scorch you a little!"

"Really?" Sereyna shifted and patted herself , checking for injuries. She'd taken two doses of adrenal stims to lend her speed and stamina, but she'd expected to take at least a glancing shot or two. "Huh. I. . . I guess I was lucky?" It was the kind of break her father would've crowed over, but it only made her nervous. Luck _always_ turned on you. It was a law of galaxy, as incontrovertible as any physical phenomenon spelled out in a mathematical formula. She shrugged at Trask, who shrugged back.

"Let's hope your luck holds," he said, handing her rifle back to her. "There's going to be plenty more Sith between us and the bridge." Sereyna nodded, euphoria souring. Every alternate route they'd tried had been cut off by wreckage or sealed blast doors that not even Trask's codes could open. Someone—Republic or Sith, she didn't know—was trying to funnel all the combatants into one particular corridor. If it was the Republic, it had to be for ease of defense; if it was the Sith, then they were about to walk into a prepared killing ground.

She let Trask take the lead this time, reasoning that his armor would protect him if they ran into enemy fire before they had a chance to come up with some sort of plan. She hung back, listening for the sounds of combat as her eyes darted from one piece of potential cover to the next in preparation for a mad dash to safety. They passed over a seemingly blank stretch of bulkhead, then flicked back. A subtle distortion shimmered in the air.

"Down!" she screeched, already halfway behind a shattered terminal. She heard the explosive blast of a single shot, and Trask's strained cry. Sereyna could see his unmoving feet from where she crouched. Should she go to him, try to drag him to safety? The stealthed gunman was undoubtedly lining up his next shot for the instant she moved into the open. Or he could be advancing on her at this moment, vibroblade in his hand, ready for a perfect strike. . .

With an inarticulate yell, she raised her blaster rifle and peppered the corridor in front of her with a salvo of fire. Nothing stirred. She slumped back into cover, teeth tearing at her lips. She could lob a grenade. . ._Trask had all the grenades_. . .try running back the way she'd come. . ._he'll shoot me in the back, I will __**not**__ be shot in the back, dammit. . ._ She tried to listen for the subtle clink of armor or the faint echo of footsteps, but the ambient noise of the dying ship and her own heartbeat drowned out everything else. The rifle pressed against her chest, more hindrance than reassurance. She would've traded it and every gun on the ship for an energy shield.

_Hesitation is death._ No escape, no help, no option except to act and hope her reflexes would save her. She bounced to her feet, throwing herself towards Trask's unmoving body. An irritating heat clawed at her left shoulder as the sound of a blast echoed in her ears. She hit the floor and rolled, staring at the now-revealed figure in gleaming armor with desperate focus. Her elbow smacked into the wall, jolting her grip on the trigger. Bolts spat towards him, shin-height, and she heard him cry out in pain. "Hah!" she exhaled, somehow pulling herself into a kneeling position. The sling was tangled around her neck and she couldn't get the rifle up—_kriff it kriff it come on you stupid thing_—and out of the corner of her eye saw Trask's arms moving. "Die, just die!" she screamed, trying to keep the shooter's attention. Another plasma bolt seared the bulkhead as she threw herself backwards, landing in a heap. Someone shot—_be Trask, it has to be Trask or we're both dead_—and she struggled back to her knees, still trying to wrench the rifle into firing position. It thumped painfully against her shoulder, and she hissed, breathing in the smell of charred meat. Trask's white face was turned towards her, the Sith was on the ground. . .she let the rifle fall, bracing her hands against the deck as it dragged her down.

"A-alive?" she gasped, needing confirmation for both of them.

"I'm pretty sure dead doesn't hurt his much," Trask answered, his voice wavering. "Aoww. . .frack it, fracking sneaky bastard. . ." He pulled himself upright. Sereyna just sat, dumbly trying to untangle the sling from her neck and sheathed blade. Trask loomed over her, white-faced and wincing. "You're hit, too. Get your medpack, now."

"Have to get this bloody thing off me," Sereyna growled, finally fumbling free of the thrice-damned strap. She scooted towards the nearest wall and leaned against it. "Serley rifles. . .this is not. . .I _told_ you I wasn't. . ." Grumbling incoherent complaints, she fished her medpack out of its pouch and peeled the wrapper from an adhesive patch. She prodded the charred flesh of her right arm curiously. "It doesn't really hurt," she said wonderingly. "I guess the stims are still working."

"Stop that!" Trask batted her hand away. "Quick, we've got to get out of here before more show up."

"How bad were you hit?" she asked. His chestplate was mottled and slightly melted, and red burns flared along his neck.

"I'm fine, but we need to—" The light behind him flickered. Sereyna kicked, shoving him sideways. His startled shout went sharp with pain as the point of a knife thrust out of his shoulder. She heard the click of a depressed switch and a low hum. Trask screamed as the second commando, cloak dissipating into nothingness, wrenched the blade up. The vibroblade slid through flesh and armor with impartial ease and tore free of his body with a spray of blood. Sereyna felt its heat against her skin, and an unprecedented anger.

It was not the snarling, fear-edged frustration she'd become so thoroughly accustomed to since her awakening. It was neither sudden nor feverish. Cold, implacable malice blossomed in her mind and enveloped her body like a cloak. It was as if she'd reached beyond the ship's hull and tapped into the pure void of deep space, starless and silent and strange. It took an instant and an age, and in that timeless moment she felt her heartbeat slow to from its frantic patter to a mechanically steady rhythm. She stared at the darkened faceplate of her enemy, wordless, thoughtless, and felt a slow breath push past her parted lips.

Then she was on her feet, hand reaching behind her for the hilt of her sword. The blade slid free as Trask fell to his knees, grabbing uselessly at his mangled shoulder, face twisted in pain. His scream was barely more than a whisper in the stillness of her mind. The Sith kicked him from his path, and she sidestepped the flailing body without conscious initiative. Her enemy raised his blade as she turned the hilt of hers over in her fingers so its point nearly touched her elbow. The vibroblade slashed toward her, and she stepped forward, arm rising. The vibroblade stopped centimeters above her arm, chewing at the flat of her sword. She felt its vibration in her bones and shifted the short sword's angle. The screaming edge skittered free harmlessly as she took a step forward and pivoted, wrist and body twisting in unison. Her bladepoint pierced the mesh that covering the trooper's chest, and she pushed, feeling it scrape against bone as it slid through the narrow gap between ribs. She was behind him now, left arm snaking around his neck, holding him tightly against her. She felt the subtle twitch of muscle spasming against unyielding metal as her blade found his heart, felt his body sag against hers as it lost the impetus of life. The vibroblade dropped from his limp hand, buzzing impotently against the floor. Air puffed against her cheek as his helmet expelled his last breath, and she inhaled, stealing it. A vast contentment suffused her, and she felt. . .

The cold calm was stripped away like a shadow before a sudden flare of light, and she was nothing more than a bloody, bewildered woman staggering under the weight of a man she'd somehow managed to kill. She stumbled backwards, dropping the corpse, forgetting the blade still lodged in its side, mouth open in shock. The noise of the dying ship tore through her mind with deafening viciousness. Trask was on his back, face screwed up in utter agony, blood all over and under him. She hovered uncertainly for a moment, then dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing for his medpack.

"What _happened_?" her bunkmate cried, and Sereyna, fumbling through bandages and stim shots and painkillers, could only shake her head.

-0-0-0-

The _Hound_ was doomed, and her captain knew it. _"The only reason we're still alive is because they aren't taking us seriously. I'm about to challenge that assumption."_

"Captain. . ." It wasn't a protest, because that would have been futile. The _Praetorian_ was more debris than ship now, her readings a carmine glare on the sensor display. "I wish there was another way," Carth said futilely.

The captain chuckled. "_So do I_," he said ruefully. "_Ah, well. Make it worth my while, will you?_" He cut communications before Carth was able to reply. He watched with clenched fists and set jaw as a last flurry of support vehicles hightailed it out of the _Hound's_ docking bays, scattering amongst the red blinks of the Sith fighters. The frigate's indicator light flared to sudden brilliance as the crew shunted all of their remaining power to their engines, sending her on a one-way course towards the _Leviathan_.

-0-0-0-

The ship shuddered and Trask stumbled, but Sereyna managed to catch him before he fell. "Not much further," she said, as much for her own sake as his. Trask nodded wordlessly, teeth and lips pressed together in stubborn determination. "I _will_ get you out of here," she promised. Somehow, over the past—Minutes? Only _minutes_? It seemed as if she'd been fighting through the _Spire's_ corridors all her life—keeping him alive had become important, and she didn't have enough thought left to figure out why. Maybe because he'd saved her life twice, though she'd managed to pay him back at least once.

After they'd patched each other up and taken the stealth belts from the dead commandos, Sereyna had claimed the second man's vibroblade, partly because she was reluctant to pry her old weapon from his body and partly because it was simply a better weapon. The. . .strangeness. . .she treated like another wound—_slap a patch over it and worry about it later_—and they moved on, though less easily than before. Her stims were wearing off, and the pain of assorted bruises and tired muscles, not to mention her burned and bloody arm, was slowly asserting itself. Trask was even worse. Only a double dose of painkillers was keeping him on his feet, and his rifle dangled limply from its sling—yet he managed to stagger on, because they simply had no other choice.

A shiver crawled along Sereyna's spine as a sound like trapped lightening crackled through the discordant racket of comm static and blaring alarms. She looked questioningly at Trask, who didn't seem to have heard anything. "Wait here," she commanded, and turned on the stealth generator. The world around her blurred, and she fought the urge to trail her hand along the wall to keep her bearings. The distortion of the cloaking device was twofold, and she'd received just enough training not to succumb to the disorientation and nausea they provoked in the uninitiated. She edged towards the junction with painful slowness—and stopped dead.

In the mangled wreckage of the hallway, two warriors dueled with swords of pure light.

She felt a sudden chill. Luminous blue clashed against sullen red, their wielders' forms distorted into vague bipedal blurs. She thumbed it off impatiently, abruptly forgetting any and all danger. A silver-armored man and a brown-clad woman leapt and twisted like acrobats, moving so quickly she could barely track them. One face was serene, the other fixed in a malevolent snarl. Brutal force deflected by elegant precision, overwhelming aggression against measured defense. . .their battle was different from anything she'd ever seen, so far removed from the anxious energy of a firefight or the gut-churning viciousness of melee combat that it seemed to be some separate thing entirely. She watched with frozen fascination, barely noticing as Trask hobbled to her side.

"What. . .oh, Jedi," Trask grunted, helpfully stating the obvious as per usual. Sereyna recollected enough brainpower to slip his uninured arm over her shoulder. He sighed and leaned heavily against her. "One of Bastila's. . .and a dark one. We'd better stay out of this, we'll only get in the way."

"Right," she said nonsensically, eyes riveted on the combatants.

The Jedi turned aside each of the Sith's attacks, evading and parrying but never striking back. Yet somehow she was winning, and the Sith knew it. His strokes became even wilder, rage-ragged and graceless. As the Sereyna and Trask watched, he threw himself towards the Jedi in a desperate lunge, crimson blade stabbing. The Jedi leapt backwards, turned her retreat into an impossible somersault, and hurtled over his head. She turned as she landed, lightsaber sweeping around in a blazing arc. The Sith's head hit the ground, cauterized flesh smoking, face forever frozen in a rictus of hate. The Jedi stepped calmly away from the falling body with a face as placid as still water. She drew a single breath and bowed her head for an instant. When she looked up and saw them gaping at her like awe-struck children, her expression shifted from serenity to satisfaction.

"You!" she called, beckoning to Trask and Sereyna. "Quickly, come with me!"

-0-0-0-

"All fighters and support craft, tuck in close to the Spire." Carth forced the words through a dry throat. "We want to take as many as we can with us." _Aureks_ and shuttles limped towards the _Hammerhead_, daring the squadrons that still swarmed around her. "Stand by for the jump to hyperspace." The burning ruin of the _Hound_ was visible through the forward viewscreens now. The ion bombardment ceased abruptly as the _Leviathan_ switched its focus to the suicidal frigate. A heavy rain of turbolaser fire hammered her nose, obliterating the bridge, but the _Hound's_ momentum was too strong to be halted. The bridge went silent as the dead ship surged inexorably on her collision course.

_Come on, Saul, take the bait,_ Carth urged silently. The _Hound_ wasn't big enough to destroy the _Leviathan_, but she would definitely cause a lot of damage if they collided. _Cut us loose to save yourself. You've done it before. . ._

No visible change heralded their salvation, but the almost bewildered bleep of a status alert marked the instant that the _Interceptor's_ grip weakened as she channeled her energy into repulsing the smaller ship. "Now!" Carth ordered, and the battlefield blurred.

-0-0-0-

"Yes, ma'am!" Trask sounded as if he'd found his new personal hero, and for once Sereyna had no objection to obeying an order. They shambled forward like a bizarre, drunken creature with three uneven legs, stumbling over the pieces of the Sith's body. For a moment, Sereyna was overcome by an irrational desire to reach down and pluck the dead man's lightsaber from the floor. Foolishness, of course, everyone knew that only Jedi could use lightsabers without maiming themselves. . .but the cylindrical hilt seemed to beckon to her, and she found herself reaching towards it as if she expected it to fly to her hand. _At the very least, it would make a great door-opener_. . .

As she hesitated, the _Spire_ lurched as if some giant hand had picked it up and shaken it. _Hyperspace jump_, a small voice in the back of her mind provided uselessly as she fell to the deck. Overstressed power conduits exploded, showering them with a thousand burning needle-pricks of pain. She struggled mindlessly against Trask's weight, managed to roll onto her back just in time to see the bulkhead start to crumple like flimsiplast, and knew that they were all dead.

_"__No," _said the Jedi, very calmly, and somehow Sereyna heard her even though her ears were full of the sound of screaming metal. Something _pushed_. She had just enough presence of mind to grab Trask's arm, and they tumbled gracelessly down the corridor together. Something slammed into her back with jarring force, but before she could even feel the pain her body was falling backwards through nothing. She landed in a heap on the floor, winded and shaken, and saw the Jedi framed by closing blast doors. She was kneeling, hands outstretched towards them. Numbly, Sereyna reached out as if to pull her to safety after them.

The other woman looked up and smiled.

The bulkhead tore free, and a black void yawned behind her.

The blast doors slid shut.

* * *

AN: I decided to give the unnamed Jedi a more fitting death than being killed by a random explosion (game) or a falling wall (Wookiepedia explanation). As for the _Hound_, I first thought it would be cool to have a burning ship ram into the _Leviathan_—and then realized that it wasn't a sound idea because 1) then I'd have to account for battle-damage to the _Leviathan_, which would be a whole new headache, and 2) the _Leviathan_ could just use its tractor beams to repulse the other ship. Yes, it would mean letting go of the _Endar Spire_, but I'm pretty than even Malak wouldn't mind releasing a nearly-crippled ship swarming with his soldiers to keep another one from smashing into his flagship. Hopefully I haven't broken any of the laws of physics. I know that objects in motion stay in motion until acted on by an equal and opposite force, but I have no idea whether the tractor beams on the _Leviathan_ would have been sufficient to stop the _Hound's_ suicide run. If not, I suppose they could always try pushing it away and moving backwards at the same time, or slingshotting it away from them.

Ship sizes: A Hammerhead like the _Endar Spire_ is 315 meters, a Praetorian like the _Hound_ a mere 180, but a Hammerhead holds, at most, approximately 700 people, while a Praetorian could carry up to 4170. Interdictors are 600, and Centurions 1200. The Sith have all the good ships because Revan destroyed many at Malachor and outright stole the rest afterwards.

As for melee combat. . .I don't have any knife or sword training or anyone to help me act out proper moves. Luckily, I'm writing in a universe where space-wizard-monks routinely defy the laws of physics. I do not, for example, know if you can feel a heart contract around the tip of the blade you stab it with, and will probably never find out. But it seems like the kind of thing one would perceive, or imagine perceiving, in the weird slowed time and enhanced sensitivity I was trying to convey. I also can't find any canon or quasi-canon sources stating whether or not the stealth fields distort the sight of those inside them, but it seems to make sense, and when in doubt I fall back on Zahn's books, where cloaking devices on ships create similar disadvantages for their users.

Hopefully I'll be able to write more frequently now that tourist season is drawing to its inevitable end.


End file.
